Playing Dress Up
by SlvrSoleAlchmst1
Summary: [SHOUNEN AI: Dearka x Yzak.] Dearka drops by the Joule residence unexpected, only to find that Yzak is slightly preoccupied. Ezalia's got him dolled up in her dress for the Commemoration Ball. But why? Yzak is mortified by Dearka's sudden arrival.


_A/N: A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, _**Ayray** _drew me a beautiful fanart of Yzak in a dress. I swore I'd write her a dirty fanfiction featuring Yzak in said dress to say thank you. And hence this little PWP._

_I wanted to keep them as in character as I could. Since Yzak would never wear a dress, my challenge was figuring out how to get him into one while making it believable. I hope it worked._

_Here you are, _**Ayray**_ my dear – enjoy. :P_

"Yzak will be right out," Ezalia Joule told him, setting down an elegant teacup on the coffee table, which Dearka took gratefully in his tanned hands. He nodded.

"Thank you. I'm really sorry about dropping by unexpected like this."

He took a delicate sip from the teacup, savoring the sweet taste of the honey Yzak's mother had put into his green tea.

"You know you're always welcome here, Dearka," Ezalia responded, straightening the lacey tablecloth on the kitchen table as she answered him from the next room. She'd hurried off to bring him some crackers as well, even though the blonde had insisted that she needn't bother herself with feeding him.

Dearka studied her profile over the rim of his cup. Though her image was wavy through the fragrant steam, it was easy to see where Yzak had gotten his stunning looks. The shimmering silver hair, the slender, delicate torso… Not to mention the icy eyes that could go from cool and soothing to brutally arctic in a matter of seconds.

Ezalia glanced over at him and smiled. "I'm not really surprised you decided to drop in," she told him, balancing a plate of cheese and crackers in one hand and her own cup of tea in the other. She positioned herself in a wing-backed chair across from him. "As a soldier, you and Yzak don't get much time off."

"Neither do you as a Council member, I'd imagine," said Dearka. He admired the spotless gleam of the vast Joule Living Room, wondering how she managed it.

"That reminds me, how is your father Tad?"

Dearka's lips curved in a quiet frown. "I don't hear from him much, but I'd imagine he's just fine." He tried to keep the bitter twinge out of his voice.

"It's difficult," Ezalia said, scowling down into her tea. "But we must remember that all this separation and discipline is for ZAFT, and one day when the Naturals have been put in their places our lives will return to how they once were."

The blonde grinned. Just like a Joule. She resembled one very foul-tempered Duel pilot in her tone, minus all the cursing and the screeching.

Ezalia seemed to read his thoughts. "I don't know what's taking Yzak so long," she observed, rising from her seat and wandering to the hallway to call her son's name.

Dearka hid another smile. Whatever was delaying Yzak must have been something typically _Yzak_. He could have been studying, or planning upgrades for his mobile suit's OS, or plotting ways to outsmart Athrun Zala. The silver head would hunt him down for his blood if he knew Dearka was the cause of his unexpected interruption. It made Dearka giddy.

The video phone bleeped loudly from its position on the opposite wall, and Ezalia hesitated at the hall entrance before sighing and making her way toward it. She pressed the "receive" button after smoothing the wrinkles from her coat, and Dearka was not surprised to see the face of another Council member flicker into focus on the plasma screen. He turned his head away. What the PLANT Supreme Council was up to was none of his business, at least not until it affected him directly and he received orders on the front lines. It was his day off. He wanted to enjoy it for a while longer.

A sudden movement from the hallway caught his eye, and Dearka looked up just as Ezalia terminated communication.

"Mother," Yzak started, preoccupied with something on the side of his clothing, "I can't get this zipper…" The words died on his lips as he ventured into the living room and caught sight of Dearka.

The blonde couldn't tell if it was complete mortification that reddened Yzak's face or a case of some hellish heat infusion into his cheeks. Or both. But the silver-haired male was flushed and horrified, and he began to sputter.

"Yzak, you've got it on wrong, that's why." Ezalia ventured forward and extended a hand. "Flip it around. That's the _back_."

Yzak stamped his foot and Dearka stared, unable to process the image before him. Yzak – _Yzak Joule_, elite red mobile suit pilot and son of the most esteemed Supreme Council member – was dripping in lace and drowning in flounces.

"How was I supposed to know?" Yzak exploded, balling his hands into fists and twitching furiously as Ezalia fought with the zipper on the dress, "This is _ridiculous_. To hell with the Junius Seven Commemoration! If everyone has to clothe themselves like _this_, what's the point?"

Dearka cleared his throat, and the two seemed to remember again that the blonde was present. Yzak's mouth shot open a second time, and Dearka recoiled at the inevitable threat that was looming on his lips, but Ezalia spoke first and her son fell silent.

"Dearka, Yzak is helping me to prepare for the Commemoration Ball," she informed him, and all the stricken Buster pilot could do was nod once in acknowledgement. "I'm on my way to a meeting, but I've got several dresses to take care of. I don't know which to wear yet, and they all need a slight bit of tailoring at the hems. I'm a little short so I've got to have them adjusted. And since I'm on my way out, I thought I'd have Yzak put them on long enough for me to pin them up where they belong. It's easier when they're on a person, that's all, and I'm too busy for that person to be me."

Yzak's face was livid, and he fixed Dearka with a perilous glare above his mother's head as she bent to fluff some of the ruffles. His look said, _Elsman, I will personally slice your organs out if you speak a single word._ So Dearka gulped and kept his mouth shut.

Ezalia glanced at her watch and tisked. "I've got to get to the meeting. Quickly, Yzak – before I leave, just test the last one. The short one."

"But you said that one didn't need to be hemmed!" Yzak's voice threatened to turn into an uncharacteristic wail of frustration.

"You'll do as I say," Ezalia barked, and Dearka narrowly avoided choking on the green tea he'd been using to stifle his reactions. "I need to know that the petticoat falls right. Just do it. You've refused to go to the ball yourself. The least you can do is contribute in memory of Junius Seven by helping _me_."

Dearka wiped his mouth carefully on his napkin before risking a word. "You aren't going to the Commemoration, Yzak?" He felt the prospects of the tightly formal affair dim even further.

"No, I'm not," Yzak spat, looking as if he took pleasure in the cold, hard facts.

The silver head made his way back down the hall, ignoring Dearka's gaping facial expression and lifting the creamy layers of material huffily as he exited.

"I'm sorry, Dearka," the elder woman apologized. "He's upset because I've got him dressed up like a mannequin. Please excuse his outburst."

The blonde's mouth was open before he could stop himself. "No worries. You should see his temper on the Vesalius…" But luckily the video phone bleeped again, and he didn't have to worry about getting Yzak into further trouble. Ezalia crossed to the flashing screen and exchanged a few harried words with the man on the other end.

"I've got to leave right away," she announced, lifting her ID from the nearby table and heading for the elaborate Joule Front Door.

Yzak left the bedroom in time to catch her quick departure.

"I'm sorry Yzak, this is urgent. Thank you for your help."

Dearka expected to see the pale youth boil over with rage, but instead he responded in a smooth manner that was almost _humane_.

"Goodbye then, mother."

Well, he'd be damned. Dearka glanced back and forth between mother and son in shock. Only _Ezalia_ could draw such a courteous parting word from an irate Yzak Joule in a dress. Ezalia made her exit gracefully, and at last Dearka's situation registered.

Or rather, barely had the _time_ to register.

Yzak's hands were fisted in his collar before he could blink. Dearka was toppled backward onto the flower-printed sofa, Yzak fuming atop him. The result was an immediate tangle of limbs and bright material – Yzak's leg between Dearka's for support as he leaned over to snarl in the blonde's face, Dearka's hands searching for a grip on Yzak's shoulders to shove him off, only to meet with layers of crinoline that got in his way.

"You _bastard_," Yzak yelled shrilly into Dearka's face, "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing here?"

"C-coming to see you," Dearka struggled, at last forcing Yzak's hands from his throat and knocking him aside. "Apparently I have bad timing."

The silver headed youth let out a little scream, tearing at his hair as if he'd suddenly gone mad. "Do you have any idea what I will _do_ to you, Elsman, if word of this ever leaves your lips – whether you're talking to me or to anyone else?"

"Make me dress up like a princess too?"

Yzak's fist collided with his face, and by the time Dearka had shifted his jaw around to check for broken teeth and looked back at the Duel pilot, Yzak had whirled away with a hiss of fury.

That went well.

"Damn, Yzak," the blonde said when enough of the pain had receded, "I didn't know it pissed you off so much." He rose from the sofa, and the silver-haired male turned slowly back around to face him.

"You bas—"

"Relax, Yzak. Did you think I'd run around telling stories about Yzak The Drag Queen in my spare time or something? Give me more credit."

The opposite Coordinator looked ashamed.

"Just think, at least you beat Zala at _something_. You make a better female than he would." He wasn't sure if Yzak would loosen up or hit him again, but he waited bravely.

Yzak merely folded his arms. "Are you suggesting that I don't beat Zala at anything else?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you don't, do you?"

"Shut up already, Elsman."

Yzak stalked off down the hallway and Dearka grinned. He was back on safe ground.

They strode into Ezalia's room and made for her massive closet. Dearka noted the severity with which the woman lined up her many conservative pairs of shoes, the way she arranged her outfits by color, in greens and navy blues and soft, deep purples. Yzak was the same way, precise and organized. He grinned.

"You know, you and your mother are a lot alike. No wonder she had you trying on her dresses." He knew he was trying the other's patience again, but he couldn't help himself. Yzak didn't answer.

Dearka eyed the other male carefully, noting the gentle flush that still made itself visible on his features. Yzak's skin glowed like perfect porcelain where the rosy hue didn't touch, and his brow knotted beneath strands of fine silver hair when he reached for a hanger above his reach.

"I'll get it," Dearka volunteered, suddenly aware of how bright and deep Yzak's eyes looked in the low-key light of the master bedroom. He shifted uncomfortably as he sidled around the other boy to retrieve the hanger. Yzak looked _pretty_, there was no doubt about it. And he had barely allowed his eyes to roam to the dress yet. The blonde resolved not to do so. He _wouldn't_. It was too… appetizing.

"You're blushing like a tomato, Elsman," Yzak barked at him, snatching the hanger and meticulously putting away one of his mother's dresses.

Dearka decided it was best not to lie, not after he'd been nearly annihilated for a minor offense. "Well," he joked, "You are in a _dress_." Yzak was attractive all the time. In fact, on most days, it was more than Dearka could handle. But Yzak as he looked right then… It was…

The dress was a deep red, more or less the shade of their standard ZAFT uniforms, and it was complete with black detailing at the hem and waist. He saw Yzak in those colors frequently; Yzak looked the same, and yet… Utterly desirable at that precise instant. The neckline was wide and low; it exposed his neck and collarbone and the sensitive place where his neck met his shoulders in back. It hugged Yzak's waist and his narrow, jutting hips. But perhaps it was the lower half that made Dearka go warm with desire. The skirt stopped at mid-thigh, and it shouldn't have seemed right – it shouldn't have – but the way Yzak's legs looked, exposed beneath the petticoat of black crinoline and the silken, red material that composed the better part of the dress…

"Dearka, do you aim to completely put me off with the look you've got on your face right now?"

But Yzak didn't sound put off. He didn't sound angry, either. Maybe Dearka's mind was already too muddled with thoughts of what he wanted that was _underneath_ that dress, but Yzak sounded vaguely amused and a touch anticipatory rather than anything extreme.

"Sorry, Yzak," Dearka strove vainly to compose himself, "But it's just that you in that dress…" He couldn't bring himself to finish. _You in that dress makes me want to do things to you that you'd kill me for later._

The silver head rolled his eyes. "You're so pathetic, Elsman. Get a hold of yourself. Actually, _get out_. I'm taking this cursed thing _off_."

The blonde hesitated. He couldn't let that happen.

"I don't want you to do that just yet," Dearka breathed suddenly, stepping in to close the space between them. He slid his hand along Yzak's skin, just beneath the short hem of the dress. Yzak's breathing hitched at the contact, and Dearka backed him against the wall beside the closet door.

With one hand at Yzak's waist and the other beneath the dainty flounces, the blonde began to push the skirt upwards and run his fingertips over the paler boy's leg and to his hip. Yzak bit back a gasp at the steaming touch, leaning his head against the wall when Dearka stepped forward to press them together. There was friction suddenly, and Dearka had one of his legs between Yzak's; Yzak was gripping his shoulders tight enough to leave marks even through the blonde's T-shirt. Dearka dipped his head to bite at the spot he knew Yzak liked best, at the base of his neck near his shoulder, and his breaths grew needy and ragged.

"Dearka…" Yzak spoke his name through a veil of lust, and the wanton tinge in the silver head's voice threw Dearka over the brink.

He'd never stop now. Maybe Yzak hadn't wanted him to.

He yearned to taste Yzak then, and he caught the other male's lower lip and sucked it greedily. Yzak's hands tangled themselves in his flaxen hair, tugged at his wavy locks and brought him closer, forced them together for a breathless, heavy kiss. Dearka felt Yzak's pliant lips melding with his, felt the pleasant tingle the sensation sent rocketing through him right to his groin. He let his tongue slip inside, cleaving for the most hidden parts of Yzak's mouth and shuddering as Yzak responded by weaving his tongue together with his. It was a moist, hot sensation, and Dearka fought to steady himself. He was reeling and dizzy with pleasure; it had come on so fast, it was so _consuming_. He kissed Yzak harder, his hands still roaming beneath the skirt. Then he found he couldn't restrain himself anymore.

He rocked his hips forward urgently, and Yzak snapped his head back with a deep moan. _That_ was what Dearka had ached to hear.

They fumbled for the bed; Dearka's hands were all over the silver-haired male – running down his sides, sifting through his silken hair, gripping his thighs and sitting him down at the foot of the bed while he stood between Yzak's legs and lifted that enticing skirt.

"Easy access, Joule," the blonde teased, but Yzak was in no mood for distractions. He hauled Dearka down for another kiss, muffling his own sounds of passion as Dearka ventured beneath the skirt once more and slid two fingers into him, slowly and deliberately.

Yzak lurched and his back arched, but Dearka caught him around the waist and heaved him up until they were pressed together. Yzak's muscles clamped around his fingers when he moved them in and out, languidly and with drawn out passion. The silver head tensed and Dearka could feel his abdomen clench with longing – he wanted more. But Dearka wasn't ready to indulge him yet. The present feeling was too sensational. Yzak moved to meet Dearka's hand when it came, letting those warm fingers explore him and send pleasure spasms shooting throughout.

Dearka buried his face in Yzak's neck, biting, suckling, nipping at the flesh that had become beaded with sweat. Yzak's breaths were uneven, insistent. Dearka heard him cry out when he flexed his fingers inside.

"We're lucky you're aren't going to the Commemoration, huh?" Dearka panted, savoring the way Yzak's body moved with his as they rocked together at the edge of the bed. "Something tells me that neither of us would get much ballroom dancing done."

"I-idiot," Yzak managed to groan, as the blonde withdrew slowly and Yzak shuddered "There's no way I'd be in a stupid _dress_ in a place like _that_."

"But you don't seem to mind it when we're _here_." He cut off any protests when he scraped his fingers up the sides of the Duel pilot's legs and positioned himself to enter.

Yzak threw his head back. His face was flushed even more heavily than before, though this time it was with desire. His skin glistened, his strands of silver hair were matted to his forehead, and his eyes were half-closed in an unfocused, dreamlike fashion. It was beautiful. _Yzak_ was beautiful, with or without a dress. Although just then, Dearka took a high pleasure in hiking the skirt up as far as it would go and burying himself inside Yzak with a long groan of hunger.

Yzak's legs clamped over his waist. Dearka could feel him squeeze hard, loosening only enough to give him room when he withdrew. Yzak felt tight and satisfying around his hardened, aching member, and as Dearka pushed himself in farther he had to choke back a shaky moan of ecstasy.

He thrust with more intensity then. The skirt of the dress ballooned around them as they collided and retracted, met and then parted again and again with increasing rounds of pants and gasps. Dearka dug his fingers into Yzak's hips, where his eager grip threatened to leave bruises on the flesh beneath the red material. He couldn't get enough. Yzak's body was slender and lithe and seductive, and he wanted more. The pleasure was seeping into him like wildfire, pooling there and feeling like the effect of some shamefully delicious drug. The blonde reached down to curl a hand around Yzak, running his skillful touch along the shaft and over the head.

The silver-haired male bucked and let out a wanton hiss. He was nearing his limit, and so was Dearka.

A quick spasm raked through them both, sending the blonde collapsing atop his quarry as Yzak cried out again. Dearka felt the presence of the sticky coating that slicked Yzak's inner thighs and his lower abdomen, and it made him want the opposite male all over again.

"You sure you aren't going to the Commemoration Ball?" Dearka asked, breathless, sending his tongue trailing along Yzak's jawline and halting at one corner of his mouth.

"I'd rather battle with the Strike," Yzak insisted. "But mother is only wearing _one_ dress when _she_ goes. She'll leave the rest here."

Dearka caught his drift. "Ah. So we'll test out _those_ dresses next time."


End file.
